sanctum | short stories

aqua regia | part one

Staring at me, it makes a short clicking sound almost like that of a dolphin. I stare back, terrified and unable to move, watching with wide eyes as it ducks it's head under the water for a moment before resurfacing. Something tells me that I should have run when I had the chance, because now I have no doubts that this thing, whatever it may be (mermaid? Merman? A siren or runaway science experiment? I have no clue), could and probably would catch me at the first sign of an escape attempt. If the twin rows of razor sharp fangs are anything to go by, it's the predator here and I am the unlucky prey animal simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It sinks beneath the waves a second time, only when it's head reappears, only it's eyes and above are visible. They're striking, shining with the reflection of the ocean surface like glass shards in the dying light, and to my bittersweet relief, they're markedly inquisitive. The creature is curious, not murderous for now.

"Um... hi?" I whisper hesitantly, wincing at how hoarse my voice is. I sound as though I haven't spoken in days. Now that I think about it, I don't think I have. My sisters only call once every month at most, and being the only one around for a mile or two, there is no need to talk. In this place, I can go weeks without speaking at all.

The creature lifts its head further out of the water, it's pointed ears flickering forward, and lets out a sharp barking noise.

I flinch. Was that a reply? "Can... can you understand me?"

It barks a second time, but does not speak, submerging its neck—its gills, I realise with a start as they flare, flashing bright red and vermillion against his pale throat—once again. I wonder if like how I can't breathe underwater, it can't breathe out of it? If we are both tied to our respective environments by a mutual inability to permanently cross over the shore?

"Can you speak?"

Its thin lips part as if about to make another sound, giving me an eyeful of its glinting fangs, when my stomach growls quietly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since the apple and sleeve of crackers I had seven hours or so ago for lunch. My blood runs cold, half expecting the creature to launch forward in attack as it stills in the water.

Instead, it releases a gruff huff of breath, its nostrils flaring, and slips beneath the surface. Unlike the last few times, it doesn't return to view after a couple of seconds. I scour around for it, but the waves are tenebrous in this light. Impossible to see beneath as they mirror the twilight abyss above. It appears to have disappeared, but as hesitant as I am at staying put, I'm too wary to leave. For all I know, it could be lying right in front of me just waiting for me to try and run.

A minute must pass, the only sounds that of the ocean, my throbbing pulse, and my breathing; short and staccato like a petrified rabbit.

In one fluid movement, the creature's head emerges from below, silver eyes blinking in an almost lizard-like fashion. In its mouth, it holds a live fish between its teeth. Inching forward on its belly, it rears up on his arms, its ears flicking back against its skull as it drops the fish on the rock closest to mine. The movement has it revealing the base of its tail for the first time, its rough scales a dazzlingly inconsistent gradient of gun metal grey and Turkish blue that extends down from his hips and along his spine. They're so stunning, that for a split second I forget my fear in the face of such astonishing beauty. Much to the creature's irritation, I also forget about its offering, and the fish flops awkwardly back into the sea.

Hissing loudly, it ducks back beneath the waves before resurfacing seconds later, holding the fish by the tail. It smacks it aggressively against the rock once, twice—three times until the fish is well and truly dead, and I am unable to repress the whimper that slips from between my lips at the sight.

Its gaze shifts from the dead fish in its grasp to me. I stiffen, perhaps more terrified now than I was when this creature first appeared after seeing the violent display. It warbles throatily, the sound low and keening, almost encouragingly, and holds the dead fish out to me in it's webbed hands.

"For... me?"

It trills again when I hesitate, insistent.

"Thank you," I murmur, cautiously, taking the proffered fish from it's grasp with a shaky hand and setting it down beside me on the rock.

The creature makes a series of short clicks, gills fluttering as it withdraws back into the waves again, leaving only its curious eyes and the top of its head above the surface, bubbles visible atop the water as it burbles. It doesn't seem overly bothered that I'm not eating the fish immediately. With the way its long tail swishes from side-to-side, churning the water behind it, and the pride that pools in its silvery irises, it appears almost pleased with itself at my acceptance of its gift.

"Do you have a name?"

It doesn't make a sound this time, it's ears twitching at the sound of my rasped question.

Discouraged, my arms curl tighter around my knees and I hunch further in on myself. Was that a no? Why did it fall silent so suddenly? Does it want something from me? My mind reels back to when my grandfather knelt down before me as a child and told me that my beloved father wasn't ever coming home from his trip, the weight of grief on my heart heavier than his hand on my shoulder, and once again I'm reminded how frustrating it is to hear something and not understand it.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, tired now. My terror and exasperation at not being able to comprehend any articulation the creature makes beyond what it might mean for my life, has piled atop of today's stressful interaction with a rude client, and I am exhausted. I run a hand through my hair, my thin fingers tangling in my feral ebony curls, catching on what I assume is a wayward splatter of paint from the piece I was working on this morning at sunrise. The creature's tenebrous eyes follow the gesture with acute attentiveness, its stare attuned to the movement until my hand returns to holding my elbow around my bent legs. "I don't understand you. But for what it's worth, my name is Khari. Khari Apollinaire—"

The creature jerks in the water as if electrocuted, rearing up on its tail with bared teeth and a reverberating hiss. I startle at once, weariness retreating to the far corners of my mind as fear takes over, and watch in horror as its fins and gills flare, a threatening display of vicious spines and crimson, the blood red patches bright even in the dark. Its ears fly forward too, and its arms swipe at the air—now ripe with static tension and dread so thick I could choke on it—between us with talons I'm certain would tear my body to shreds if they were to descend upon me now. Water surges up against the rock I'm perched on, spraying up towards me in a vindictive sibilance of white spray. It soaks through my clothing, letting the evening chill prick my flesh and bones beneath, but if I couldn't bring myself to move before, I definitely can't now. Hypothermia seems like a blessing in comparison to the beyond terrifying sight before me.

But it doesn't attack. Doesn't even approach. With its silver eyes narrowed and flashing with some mistrusting emotion I can't decipher through its abrupt unveiling of inhuman qualities, it rolls back into sea without so much a ripple. Propelling it through the inky water, the creature's elegant flukes are the last I see of it as all signs of its existence are swallowed by the sea.